Behind Blue Eyes
by purdys pal
Summary: What if the plan to capture Michael at the boathouse, in S7 Sea Change, had worked? Would Michael be able forgive their interference in his plans? Where would they go?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Behind Blue Eyes was written by Pete Townshend and was produced by The Who & Glyn Johns. Burn Notice belongs to Matt Nix. This has been written for fun.

**A/N:** So I was watching Sea Change and I got to wondering what would Fiona, Sam and Jesse have done if their plan to capture Michael at the boathouse had worked? Would Michael forgive them? Where would they go? Who would get to them first? James and Sonya, or Agent Strong and the CIA? Then, a little later on the same day, I was checking out some videos on YouTube and _voilà!_

**Behind Blue Eyes**

_The silver-colored luxury sedan was traveling steadily over the old port bridge. Everything looked to be going perfectly to plan. Then all of a sudden, it began to speed up and dangerously swerve out of control, for one brief second looking like it might even crash through the safety rails and descend into the water below. But then it was over and the vehicle came to a stop diagonally across one lane._

_Moments later, a tall dark haired figure leapt out of the passenger door, followed immediately by the driver throwing open his door and jumping out too. As others looked on, the two men were embroiled in a heated argument._

"What are they doing?" Fiona Glenanne asked the question, but in truth she didn't need to hear the answer. She already knew what was happening across the water from where she stood.

Standing side by side with Jesse Porter, all the auburn-haired Irishwoman could do was watch helplessly as their carefully laid plan fell apart before their eyes. Fiona lowered her binoculars, her skin ashen as she realized they had lost. Both men were out of the car and, just from their body language, there was no doubt left in her mind that Michael, like the highly skilled predator he was, had spotted the trap they had been waiting to spring.

She couldn't remember another time when she had ever felt as impotent as she did right then. Standing at the edge of the floating jetty, staring out over the water, as Sam began to fight for what was left of the battle weary spy's soul.

"It's going all wrong... We need to get down there _now_." She turned to towards Jesse, her expression that of a woman who was not going to take no for an answer.

Looking over the petite woman's head, Jesse winced as he witnessed Sam body slam his best-friend onto the hood of the car and a fraction of a second later smash his fist down where the spy's head had been only moments earlier.

"Damn straight, before they kill -" The shaven headed younger man paused, as Michael used both legs in a double kick, hitting his target squarely in the chest with both feet in rapid succession.

"Oh hell," he moaned, as with a sudden burst of speed and most likely a gut full of desperation, the former SEAL rushed his younger opponent and use his momentum to send them both sailing out over the rail and into the water far below.

"Jesse, get in or get left behind!" Fiona shouted, gunning the engine of her sports car to emphasize her words.

The wheels of her Hyundai spun, making the tires squeal as she drove rapidly towards the most likely spot for the two men to surface. She was still reeling from witnessing how far Michael had fallen under the spell of James Kendrick and that evil little troll bitch, Sonya Lebedenko.

She should have pushed harder for Sam to take a taser along as a backup. He should have never had attempted to bring Michael in on his own. But none of them had truly believed that their best friend would have turned so completely against them.

"Sam's better in the water," Jesse muttered, trying to offer up some reassurance. "He's the stronger swimmer, yeah. Yeah, he can take Mike down in the water... I mean, the guy was a SEAL..."

"Jesse, shut up. And just – just -" She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel and sent out her own silent prayers that it was the SEAL winning the battle taking place under the waves. But deep in her heart, she knew Michael would win out. It is one of the things she loved most about him: he always found a way to succeed.

"_There!_ Look!... Oh, damn..." Jesse pointed excitedly and then, as he realized who it was swimming for the platform under the bridge, he reached for the shotgun laying at his feet instead.

"Fi, pull over. Get ready with the sedative. I'll -" _He had shot Michael Westen once before, he could do it again_.

"No, _I'll_ take the gun."

_This was something she had to do. She knew deep down that she had to take her fair share of the blame for what had happened to her former lover. If she had to shoot him to bring him back to his senses, well, so be it._

With the little red sports car stopped and blocking off any hope the spy had of taking Sam's ride, the couple climbed out and moved cautiously towards the steps which led down to the waters edge.

They came to a stop as they heard Michael speaking, hearing the deadly threat in his tone.

"- been through so much together, I'm gonna let this go. But you stay the hell outta my way, Sam."

_No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes_

_No one knows what it's like  
To be hated  
To be fated  
To telling only lies_

And then he was there, right in front of her, dripping wet and exuding an icy rage. As he looked her straight in the face, she saw only cold hatred. There was nothing of the man she loved showing in his narrowed deep blue eyes.

"Move, Fi," he growled out her name, his muscles tensing when he saw the gun and read her intent.

She couldn't give him a chance. She couldn't give him an opportunity to speak any more. Just seeing that look on his face, she knew that if she didn't stop him now, she might end up having to kill him for real.

The shotgun bucked in her hand and Michael staggered backwards as the rubber projectile hit him squarely in the chest. But somehow he managed to stay upright, his features registering shock at what she'd done.

"Fi?" The word came out of his mouth in a gasp as she changed her aim and fired again.

Long ago on the streets of Ireland, British soldiers had learned that the rubber bullets they were issued with to control the rioting natives were incapable of stopping a determined attack. So she did what they had learned to do and angled her next shot into the ground, sending the ricocheting bullet up into the man she still loved at a far greater velocity than the first shot. It had been the exact same technique used which had killed her Uncle Milo and set her own father on the path to becoming a bomb-maker and bank robber.

The impact dropped Michael to his knees, his expression horrified as his hands frantically reached to his chest as if searching for a wound.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispered and turned away, unable to watch as Jesse closed in and injected a sedative into the rogue spy's neck before easing their fallen friend down onto the hard concrete deck.

"Fi, Jesse, what's goin -?"

Upon hearing the ex-SEAL's voice, she let the shotgun slip from her grip and rushed over to the steps as Sam Axe staggered into view. His expression, if possible, was becoming even grimmer as he took in the scene before him.

"What have you done?" He batted her hand away as she tried to help him up the last of the steps, all his attention on his former friend now lying drugged at the side of the road.

"We all agreed. We had to stop him. The plan is still the same! Come on, let's get him in the car... Sam! Come on before he wakes up." She justified hitting her former lover with two non-lethal shotgun rounds at close range while tugging on the older man's arm in an effort to make him move.

Ignoring the younger woman for a moment, the former Naval commander wiped away the blood trailing sluggishly down the side of his face from the cut above his eye. He could see no good way for this to end.

"C'mon, big fella, that shot I gave him ain't gonna last forever," Jesse called out with a loud grunt, as he rose to his feet with Michael's limp body slung over his shoulder.

"Put him in the trunk," Sam ordered, his tone lacking any of the usual warmth his companions were used to hearing when he spoke about or to his best friend. "Jess, you're gonna have to drive my car... If we're doing this, we don't take any more chances. Because, I'm tellin' ya, we do not want him coming round loose on the back seat."

"Sam, it's Mike," the younger man tried to reason. But he was cut off by the auburn-haired woman who was holding the lid of the trunk open.

"Not now, he isn't... Jesse, let's do it Sam's way. It's for the best. It won't hurt him and it's only for a few minutes."

Without another word, the tall man dropped his friend into the trunk and rearranged the sleeping man's limbs until they could shut the lid without risking injuring him. "You sure you don't want me to cable tie his wrists, so... er... you know... to make sure he can't escape."

"No, not yet. But we'll have do it before we get him on the plane," Sam answered grimly. "Speaking of which, we should get moving before James or Sonya come looking for their new _best friend_."

Fiona pulled up outside the boathouse in front of where Madeline Westen paced nervously back and forth waiting for them. The older woman rushed forward as soon the red sports car came to a stop.

"What happened? Did Sam manage to stop him? Where's Michael?" The questions were fired one after another.

"Madeline..." Fiona tenderly caught hold of the older woman's arms and held her still. "Come inside with me. I'll explain everything, but we have to get ready to leave. Now."

"Now? I thought -" The blond stared passed her son's ex-girlfriend to where Michael's two best-friends where lifting his limp body out of the trunk of Sam's car and carrying him into the empty storage room.

"Madeline, we need to get moving. We talked about this... The CIA, James' people will be looking for us."

The older woman stared for a moment longer, lost in thought as the enormity of what they were doing truly dawned on her. Her remaining son was a traitor to their country. He had turned his back on them all and abandoned them to either face a lifetime in prison or the not so tender mercies of his new friends.

"Promise me, we'll get him back." She looked directly into the blue-green eyes of the younger woman. "You'll get Michael back to who he was."

Fiona smiled, and fixed the older woman with a determined gaze. "Even if I end up having to kick his ass all the way across the Atlantic. I promise, we'll straighten him out."

_But my dreams  
They aren't as empty  
As my conscience seems to be_

_I have hours, only lonely  
My love is vengeance  
That's never free_

Michael lay sprawled out on the hard concrete floor of the boathouse, stripped down to his boxers, even his sunglasses, wristwatch and shoes were gone, bagged up with his clothes along with a couple of large rocks waiting to be thrown out into the river.

"C'mon, dude, help me get him into these threads. The guy weighs a ton." Jesse had managed to get a pair of grey sweat pants up over the unconscious spy's knees and was now struggling to turn the limp body onto its side so he could pull the garment up over the other man's hips.

Sam squatted down to help. His eyes fixing on the sleeping visage of his best friend... _Former best-friend?_ "I don't like this... This is a mistake. We should just let him go and get the hell outta here ourselves."

"You want to give up on him?" Jesse asked, surprise in his voice.

Sam sighed and ran a hand over his mouth and chin trying to think of a way to explain. "You didn't see him back there. He's gone, Jesse... He's my best friend, and it kills me to say it, but when I looked into his eyes, the Michael Westen I knew wasn't there..." He swiped at his eyes and got to his feet, leaving the younger man to finish dressing his friend. _How could they save a man who didn't want to be saved?_

He couldn't hide his sorrow any longer. Crossing the floor, he stepped out into the rain and raised his face towards the heavens, hoping the moisture falling from the sky would mask the tears trailing down his cheeks. He could still see the look of pure hatred etched into the features of the dark haired spy as Mike admitted he had turned his back on them all, not only his government and country, but his friends and family, too. The hateful bitter words of betrayal still rang clearly through the troubled ex-SEALs mind. But it wasn't just the words that had broken Sam's heart. It was the knowledge that Michael Westen, the man closer to him than any brother, had fallen under the thrall of one monster and was now nothing more than a monster himself.

_**()()()**_

Madeline Westen stared out of the Seaplane window and put her hand up to her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes as she got her first proper look at her son as he was held up by Sam and Jesse and marched along the floating jetty towards the doors to the plane.

Michael's head hung down, his feet dragging along the ground as he slumped between the two larger, heavier men who supported him with a shoulder under each of his arms. Still in the grip of the strong sedatives Jesse had injected into his veins less than twenty minutes earlier, the dark haired, semi-conscious spy was incapable of either helping or hindering in his progress along the dock.

"It's going to be fine." Fiona tried to soothe the older woman. "Once we're somewhere safe, we'll sit him down and talk some sense into him."

"Is that what you think?" Madeline replied in a scathing tone. "_You_ _think_ you'll be able to talk my son into seeing what he's done is wrong?"

"He's just got lost, Madeline. We have to show him -"

The feel of the plane dipping down slightly and then the sight of Jesse's broad back coming through the narrow door caused both women to halt their discussion and instead turn their attention to the youngest member of their group.

Fiona leaned further over the seats, doing her best to block Charlie's view of his uncle being manhandled inside and strapped securely down into one of the seats near the front. Meanwhile Madeline fussed, making sure her grandson was strapped into his seat and that he had a tight hold on his favorite dinosaur toy.

"Let us know if he starts to come round. I'd rather not have fight with him while we're in the air." Sam turned to pull the doors shut, his tone flat and cold. "We got everything?"

"Everything in the boathouse is on board or tossed into the river." Fiona told him, as she took a seat next to her former lover, her fingers reaching out to comb through his wet, messed up hair.

"Good, let's get out of here." Fitting into the pilot's seat with Jesse at the co-pilot spot, Sam began to go through the checks for take off.

_No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes_

_No one knows what it's like  
To feel these feelings  
Like I do_

_And I blame you_

_No one bites back as hard  
On their anger  
None of my pain and woe  
Can show through_

()()()()()

_Fiona had shot him!_

Michael tossed and turned, his limbs moving restlessly as he fought his way out of the drug haze he had been kept in throughout the journey away from Miami.

_Fiona had shot him!_

_Sam had refused to understand what he was doing. It was the only way to keep them safe and give him a life worth living._

"_You know when she gets like this... things tend to go boom." _

_Sam and Fiona were working together. The thought hit him like a punch. His friends had turned against him._

He sat up sharply and fell back just as fast. Lying on his back, he stared up at the dark ceiling and the empty light fitting dangling over his head as he tried to catch his breath.

_They had kidnapped his mother and nephew, and burnt down her home... Had they gone crazy?_

A wave of nausea came out of nowhere, a rush of heat drenched him in sweat and his stomach heaved, barely giving him time to turn and let his head hang off the side of the bed before the tiny amount of food left in his body ended up on the dust covered floor.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he sat up again. This time taking things slowly and wiping a trembling hand over his mouth, Michael took a long look at his surroundings. There wasn't much to see. He was in a small windowless room, which he thought might have been used for storage in the past. The walls were lined with two rows of shelving and looked pretty substantial. He would test them later if he couldn't get out through the wood door across on the other side of the room, which brought him to his next task; he had to get to his feet and make the walk to the door.

Lurching up on to his feet, the dark haired spy stood swaying while he fought the dizziness and the urge to throw up again. Closing his eyes, he tried to center himself and gain control over his senses. He had one goal: to get out of wherever he was being held and back to James and Sonya...

They had ruined everything, his so-called friends. All they had to do was stay away and trust that he knew what he was doing and they couldn't even do that for him.

With his building anger adding to his sense of purpose, he opened his eyes and took the five steps necessary to cross the room. When he pushed down on the handle, he was surprised to find they hadn't locked him inside. Slowly, inch by inch, he opened the door just enough so he could see what, or rather who, was on the other side.

()()()()()()()()()


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: **__Thank you for all the reviews for the first chapter of this story. Sorry that I don't always get to reply personally but I do appreciate all your comments. And a special thank you to Jedi Skysinger for her BETA skills on this and the last chapter._

_For those of you who were asking about my other stories, there will be new chapters coming soon for Aiden, Dodging Raindrops and possibly Who We Once Were._

**BEHIND BLUE EYES**

_**Part Two**_

**()()()()()()**

The work tops in the kitchen were covered in a good inch of dust and long wispy cobwebs hung from the ceiling and off the two old wall cabinets. There was a cracked enamel sink in front of the window, which was so filthy barely any light could shine through.

"Do you think it's wise leaving Madeline and Charlie in the other room?" Fiona hissed, her eyes going to the door which Sam was leaning against with his ear pressed to the wooden surface. "If -"

"Mike's gonna be waking up soon. If we're in there and confront him head on, he'll fight back. We need to keep things as calm as possible," Sam replied as he continued to eavesdrop on what was happening on the other side of the door.

"Sam's right, Fi," Jesse added. "Mike's been brainwashed by James. We can't be talking smack to him while we're trying to get his head outta—"

"Talk?" Fiona couldn't believe that that was the plan. As far as she could see, Michael was well past their being able to talk him round. "Sam, you tried talking to him and look what happened."

"But he won't be able to get away this time. There's nowhere left for him to go. We've already ruined any plans he had on going back to James," the older man replied and then, with a sigh, he turned his attention fully onto the auburn haired woman. "Look, this whole thing was your idea, sister. I'm just trying to make sure we _all_ get outta this in one piece. Besides, Maddy insisted she was going to be the one to talk to Mike first."

_No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes_

_No one knows what it's like  
To be hated  
To be fated  
To telling only lies_

_But my dreams  
They aren't as empty  
As my conscience seems to be_

Slowly, inch by inch, Michael pushed opened the door to the room he had woken up in, just enough so he could see what, or rather who, was on the other side. But when he did, he blinked and rubbed at his eyes.

_How could they do this? Bring a child into this...?_

Charlie sat cross legged on the floor, less than ten feet from where he stood. The little boy was playing with his large plastic dinosaurs. He had one in each hand and they were fighting, the three-year-old making the noises to accompany the battle.

"_Try telling that to Nate! The people who killed your brother thought they were doing good, too."_

Sam's words flashed into his mind along with some other things he would rather forget.

The innocence in the boy's large brown eyes, the way his thick bangs hung down over his forehead, it all reminded Michael of his own baby brother, Charlie's father, Nate.

"_I would have never taken that shot," _had been one of the many excuses made by Tom Card, the one which had sealed his old training officer's fate.

The dark haired spy rested his head against the edge of the door frame, a chill running down his spine as other memories continued to whirl around in his drug hazed mind. All of a sudden, he could taste and smell the cheap alcohol he had used to block out the wreck he had made of his life. He could feel the burning need to take a drink so he could forget what was happening - what he had become.

"_This mission is getting out of control. Strong, you need to talk to your people at the CIA, make them understand I can't do this."_

_He had stood over the sleeping shape of a little girl, holding a gun to her head. One word from Burke and he would have had to take the shot or risk losing not only his life, but that of his friends and his mother._

"_Michael, calm down. I know you're upset."_

"_Upset?" he'd echoed in disbelief. "Burke almost had me kill a child." Surely once the CIA knew, once they knew what he had nearly had to do to save the mission, they would understand._

_But Strong hadn't understood, or he hadn't cared. He hadn't cared that a child had nearly died or that his agent was close to breaking._

"_You can, you have to. You know as well as I do it's not just your ass on the line if this mission goes south. Michael, do you understand?_"

Burke had used the threat of killing a child to get the father to talk. Strong had as good as told him if he had to kill a child, the CIA had no problem with that. _And now were Fiona and Sam using the same tactic? Were they putting Charlie in his path, daring him to kill a child...?_

He blinked. _No, there was something else going on. There had to be something else going on._

He couldn't afford to wait around. Taking his eyes off his nephew, who continued to play, Michael peered further into the room towards the single window and saw the shutters were closed and the room was lit by oil lanterns hanging high up on the walls.

He must have missed the hand over with James. The dark haired spy looked at the tan line on his wrist where his watch should have been. _Did they know what they had done? Did his so-called friends know they had ruined everything?_

Opening the door, he cautiously stepped into the room and that was when he saw his mother sitting in the corner of the room with a book on her lap.

"Mom? What's going on?" He scanned the room, wondering where everybody else was hiding.

"Michael, you're awake."

She tried to smile, but he had seen that same look before. It was the one that she used to plaster on her face when his dear old Dad walked through the door after being out on a tear. "S-Sam said you'd be thirsty." She held out a bottle of blue Gatorade, her hand trembling.

He curled his lip, dismissing her concern. Instead he moved towards the shuttered window and the door.

"Where are we?"

"How about something to eat?" Madeline smiled nervously. "There's yogurt in the cooler."

_Enough of this!_

He spun around and crossed the room, pulling his mother up on to her feet. "Mom, this is important. How long have we been here? And where the hell is here?"

"Michael..." Madeline's blue eyes, so much like her son's, were wide with fear. But the inner steel which had stopped her from breaking when her husband had been alive now gave her the strength to stand up to her son. She got her breathing under control and returned his gaze levelly as he dropped his grip.

"Mom, I mean it, how long?" He folded his arms over his chest and glared down at her.

"You've been asleep for a full day... Honey, we're all so worried about you." She reached out to tenderly stroke his cheek, but he jerked his head out of the way.

"Do _you_have any idea -?" He shook his head. It was pointless berating her. She didn't have a clue what was really going on.

"I had men sitting outside my home, Michael, watching my every move. I had men inviting themselves into my house! I think I have some idea what sort of people you were working with."

"That was for your protection," he snapped back. "James was -"

"Just trying to look out for me?" she finished his sentence for him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "_Oh, please_-"

"Unca Mike?"

Charlie's voice was little more than a whisper. He had heard a lot of raised voices in his short life. It was a sound he related to losing somebody. His mom and dad had screamed at each other and then his daddy had gone. Then his mommy had shouted at everybody because she had been so sad and he had tried his best to be good, but she had left him too. And now Uncle Mike and Grandma were fighting...

Tears welled in his eyes and, as the first sob came from his mouth, the adults froze.

"Don' go, I be good. Don' go."

Michael looked down at the child clutching at his leg with something akin to horror. _How could they put him in this position? They knew how he felt about his brother's son… what the hell was wrong with them?_

He sunk down to the toddler's level and looked into his big brown moisture filled eyes. _He looked so much like Nate, it hurt to look at him_. "I have to go, to keep you and Grandma safe. Do you understand?"

Madeline came over and swept her grandson into her arms, cradling him against her body. Her eyes no longer held fear but were filled with fire. "He is three years old, Michael. All he understands is that you want to leave us."

"I'm doing this for _you_," he spat back. "If Fiona - _if _you had all just left me alone, all this would be over already. _You've __ruined __everything_!"

"Michael!" She called out as he walked towards the door. "Michael, I don't want to lose my only son."

He turned and glanced back at her, his hand twisting the knob the catch clicking open. "You're not going to lose me, but you have to stay away from me and let me do what has to be done."

_I have hours, only lonely  
My love is vengeance  
That's never free_

_No one knows what it's like  
To feel these feelings  
Like I do  
And I blame you_

_No one bites back as hard  
On their anger  
None of my pain and woe  
Can show through_

When he pushed on the door, he was surprised when it opened so easily. Stepping outside, he expected to find either Sam, Fiona or Jesse or maybe all three of them on guard duty. But instead he found himself all alone on a rickety wooden porch, staring out at what looked to be miles of swampland surrounding the house.

Walking cautiously all the way around the wrap around porch, the spy discovered an airboat tied to a post; however, when he checked out the vehicle, he discovered the spark plugs and leads missing, making the vehicle useless.

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Michael fought against the headache building behind his eyes. Then abruptly he turned to go back inside.

"Mom, _please_, where are we?" he demanded, as he snatched up the Gatorade and took a long gulping drink from the bottle.

Madeline, who still held Charlie in her arms, watched her son warily. "Louisiana, a friend of Sam's -"

"And where is Sam?"

"I'm right here, Mikey... So are Fi and Jesse."

Mr Westen turned to stare at his friends as they filed quietly into the room. The covert operative noticed how they spread out, making it impossible to take them all on at once. Sam was nearest the door leading to the outside, Jesse by the shuttered window and Fiona close to where Madeline stood in the corner of the room with Charlie, who sensing the tension amongst the adults, clung to his grandmother.

"We're sorry we drugged you, but we need to talk." Jesse spoke first, his voice soft and serious.

"What _you _need to do is let me go... You all have _no_ idea what you've done," Michael replied, his tone icy cold. "Where's my phone?"

"Sorry, Mike, but no phone calls, and you're not leaving until you're thinking straight." Sam held up a hand as his best friend glared at him.

It was like they had captured a wild animal which was just waiting for the first opportunity to pounce.

"Sam told us that you're with James now," Fiona added, trying to deflect her formers lover's ire. "That you've turned your back on us all."

_Him turning his back?_

_Hadn't she turned her back on him first? Hadn't she told him it was over? Hadn't she enjoyed her open displays of affection with her Latin lover? _ His lip curled and the look he sent was filled with pure disdain.

"Regardless of what you _think _you know, I did this for you, for all of you. Do think the CIA would keep their word and let you all walk away? Don't you realize they probably have another mission waiting for me for when this one is over? And your heads will still be on the chopping block just to keep me in line."

_He had spent his entire life using people as assets for the CIA and now they were returning the favor_. _He wasn't an agent, _he_ was their asset. They would use him, use his friends… it would have never ended._

"You made a deal," Jesse answered.

Michael laughed, the sound sending shivers up the collective spines of those watching how close to becoming unhinged their friend was. "They used _Simon__! _They started making deals with him as soon as he was thrown in prison. The C.I.A. has no honor. They believe in nothing... I was nothing more than a _weapon _to them... Well, not any more. Now I'm gonna call the shots." He rounded on Sam. "So you better step out of my way." He then glared at Fiona and Jesse. "That means the both of you, too."

He paused, watching warily as his mother and nephew exited the room and with great effort brought himself back under control. The dark haired man looked at the tense, worried expressions on his collection of former friends.

"What was this supposed to be? An intervention?" he snorted derisively and then sighed heavily. "I need to get back to Miami and repair the damage you've caused."

"There's no going back, buddy." Sam blocked the door, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. He took a breath and then continued, noting that Fiona and Jesse were moving into position for the expected explosion.

"We'd put a tracker on you. So, before we left Miami, I took your phone and sent Strong a text message telling him you were at an old building in the Everglades about seven miles from Pearl Bay... From what I heard, Strong has Sonya in custody."

"_WHAT? _What the hell have you done?" The dark haired spy stepped forward his hands curled into fists, the last vestiges of friendship falling from his eyes. _What had they done? Sonya, Sonya in CIA hands... James! James was going to blame him for this betrayal. _

His heart was beating wildly as his mind tried to wrap itself around what these people who claimed to care about him had done to his carefully laid plans.

"I – I had it all under control." Michael's voice, low and deadly, was more frightening than his previous outburst. "You—"

Before Sam's former best friend could launch his attack on the ex-SEAL, Jesse came up behind him, wrapping his arms around the furious spy's waist, pinning his arms down to his side. The younger man was stuck doing his best to keep hold as his captive used every trick he knew to break the grip around his middle, which was not only pining his arms, but squeezing the breath out of his lungs too.

Finally though, Michael stopped struggling, realizing that even with a broken nose from where he had caught Jesse in the face with the back of his head, the shaven haired former CIFA agent was the stronger man and had no intention of willingly letting him go.

"Mike, Mike, look at me, brother... If he has any sense, James is long gone. Sonya is locked away in a deep dark hole somewhere... It's over... And we ain't leaving here until we're sure you're thinking straight." Sam tried to reason with his friend, but the dark haired spy stared sullenly into space.

With a sigh, Sam pointed towards the door to the room Michael had woken up in. "Jess, put him back in there... Fi, grab the cooler."

Mr Porter force marched the ex-Ranger towards that door. He took it as a good sign that the man in his grip hadn't tried to kill him in his attempts to escape thus far. As soon as Jesse released his grip, the younger man shoved the older man down onto the bed and speedily backed away.

"You've got drinks and a few yogurts in there to keep you going... Just think things through and you'll see what we've done is the right thing." The navy man lingered just inside the room.

Finally, Michael looked Sam straight in the eye. "What you've done... What you've done is set James against us all. He was going to _sacrifice himself _to keep _you all _out of CIA prison. He was doing it for _me_. Now – _now_ he'll hunt us all to the ends of the Earth and, as for the C.I.A, they wanted James and they didn't get him... I'd say they're going to be looking for us too... I hope you're all happy."

"Strong has Sonya and a whole lotta their guys," Sam answered, keeping his cool. "So, I think the CIA will at least be willing to listen to what we have to say... But that doesn't really matter. When you went off with the CIA, one of the first things we all did once we were sure they weren't watching us too closely was get fresh, top-of-the-line fake IDs. We even arranged one for you." He paused to let the words sink in before finishing. "I don't want to run. None of us do. We all had lives back in Miami. But if it comes down to knowing the only reason we have our nice safe lives in Miami is because you've destroyed your soul... Well, I for one couldn't live with that. I know you think you're saving us, Mike, but the price is too high. We stuck together when it was the CIA hunting us all, brother. We're not walking away from you now."

The former SEAL waited, hoping for a response. But when none came, he backed out of the room and closed the door. Wiping a hand over his eyes, he stared at his other friends. "All we can do now is wait."

"For how long?" Fiona demanded.

"As long as it takes... You didn't think this would be easy did you?"

_I have hours, only lonely  
My love is vengeance  
That's never free_

_When my fist clenches, crack it open  
Before I use it and lose my cool  
When I smile, tell me some bad news  
Before I laugh and act like a fool_

_If I swallow anything evil  
Put your finger down my throat  
If I shiver, please give me a blanket  
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat_

_No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes_

()()()

Merry Christmas, Burners!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **_This is all for fun. Neither Behind Blue Eyes or Broken Crown belong to me. BBE was written by Pete Townshend. BC was written by: _Edward James Milton Dwane, Benjamin Walter David Lovett, Marcus Oliver Johnstone Mumford, Winston Aubrey Aladar Marshall. Copyright: Universal Music Publishing Ltd.

**()()()()()()()()()**

**A/N: **Thank you for your continued support of this fan fic. Your reviews, alerts and favorites are all very much appreciated. I was listening to this track and decided to include it in this story as I think it fits perfectly with where Michael's head was after James had been rummaging around in there and our hero discovered the CIA was using Simon Escher to get the job done.

On a separate note, the last of Jedi's Pals Christmas Reconnecting stories has been delayed due to some pesky computer problems, but will be coming soon.

For those of you who have been asking, a Dodging Raindrops chapter is being worked on and should be ready to be posted very soon.

Lastly thank you Jedi Skysinger for fitting in the time to Beta this chapter.

**()()()()()()()()()**

**BEHIND BLUE EYES**

**Part Three**

**Broken Crown**

_Touch my mouth and hold my tongue  
I'll never be your chosen one  
I'll be home safe and tucked away  
Well You can't tempt me if I don't see the day_

_The pull on my flesh was just too strong  
Stifled the choice and the air in my lungs  
Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie  
'Cause when I opened my body I breathe in a lie_

After Sam closed the door, the windowless room was thrown back into near darkness. Michael remained seated on the edge of the narrow cot with his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. The foggy haze from the drugs his so-called friends had used on him was slowly clearing away allowing him to truly get a grip on what they had done to him.

"_We saw ya, Mike. We tailed ya to that marina. You're telling me on the phone you haven't seen James and I'm watching you shake hands with the sonuvabitch." __The accusation sounded loud in his head._

Sam had said _tailed_, but what he had meant was _tracked_. They had somehow managed to get a tracker on him without raising his suspicion. Since Mexico, where he'd had his eyes opened to what his CIA masters were capable of, he had made a point of avoiding his friends and family where possible. He had told each one of them to stay away, as his mission was nearing completion and he needed to be particularly careful.

Then it came to him in a rush. Fiona had been the one to slip through his defenses. She had turned up at the loft late at night, disregarding _his_ wishes because _she_ wanted to talk.

"_You can't do this alone, Michael," she had begun her lecture. "If your cover is blown, the CIA will hang - you - out - to dry. Know what you'll be left with?" _

_He had finally allowed himself to look at her as she had taken his gun from under his pillow. _

_"This is not enough." She'd held the weapon up and then pulled the clip, flicking several bullets out into her palm. "And these... They're not enough... You need our help." _

She had taken the bullets from his gun, shown them to him and must have pulled a switch, swapping the real thing for a dummy shell with a tracker inside when she reloaded the weapon. And because he'd trusted her, because he always trusted her, he hadn't rechecked the gun. He fell back on to the thin hard mattress to stare up at the ceiling, unable to deny the fact that he had been a fool.

He turned his head to stare at the door of his prison. Only it wasn't a prison, Sam hadn't locked the door on leaving, just pulled it closed. He could walk out any time he wanted to. He could, if he really wanted to, go out there and drag the location of the airboats missing spark plugs out of Sam or one of the others and be on his way.

_Only where would he go?_

_Agent Andrew Strong and the CIA?_

_Never,_ _never again_, whatever happened now, he was done with being used as a weapon by his government, by the people who could free a monster like Simon Escher and put that walking nightmare in charge of a team. His rage at that particular betrayal still ran through his veins unabated. Simon was dead, but how many other monsters were out there, freed because they served a purpose?

_No, he would never allow himself to be used again._

Wiping a hand over his eyes, he thought about his other option. If he went back to James, _if_ he could convince the leader of the organization he had been captured and had no part in Sonya's arrest. If he proved beyond doubt he was loyal...

"_You have to let your friends go."_

Sonya had been right. He should have listened to her and let them go right from the start. He should have done whatever was necessary to make them back off. James would want retribution. He would expect his new number two to show where his true allegiance lay. The former Delta would require...

He desperately tried to stop the thought, unwilling to follow that trail of reasoning to the obvious conclusion.

A shiver went up and down the spy's spine and another wave of heat flushed over his skin and he was back on his feet, running for the door, flinging the thin piece of rotting wood wide before the rising tide of nausea overtook him completely.

_Standing over the sleeping figure of Rafael Serano's daughter, the silencer on his gun aimed straight at the child's head..._

_Charlie curled up with his toy dinosaur, sleeping as peacefully as only an innocent is capable, while some stranger stands over him, waiting for the word to end his life..._

_Staring at Roger Steele through his rifle scope, apologizing to the man just before he blew a hole through his chest..._

_Sam sitting outside Carlitos, a mojito in his hand, when the shot comes..._

_His Mom, Jesse, Charlie, Sam, Fiona, all hiding in what they think is a safe house when a helicopter gunship descends..._

"Here," Fiona called, seemingly stepping out of nowhere, urgently grabbing his arm and directing him towards the bathroom and then down beside the toilet bowl. He could feel her presence behind him as his stomach clenched and he threw up again. Afterwards, once he was back on his feet, the miserable dark haired man gripped the old enamel sink and stared into the badly tarnished mirror before him.

"Here, wash your mouth out with this." Fiona handed him a bottle of water, the lid already twisted off.

Taking the bottle with a shaky hand, Michael swilled out his mouth and then spat into the toilet before pushing down on the flush. Then after taking several sips from the bottle to ease his sore throat, he turned to face the woman he had once loved.

"Why are you really here, Fiona?" he asked, his tone flat and cold.

She looked at him, her eyes widening and her lips forming a nervous smile. He knew that look. It was the expression she wore when she had been discovered doing something she shouldn't and she was about to try to justify her actions.

"We -"

"Not we, _you_. Why are _you_ here, Fi? _You_ had no problem last week, _using me,_ using _Sonya_ to rescue your _boyfriend_. And then – what? After I give you what you've been asking for this whole time... I back off, I tell Strong to leave you alone, I do _everything_ in my power to remove you from my life, just like _you_ wanted. What then? _You_ change your mind?"

He knew he was as good as begging to be hit. Hell, he knew if he didn't stop talking it would happen. But that didn't mean the stinging slap to his cheek didn't hurt.

"I _hated_ having to drag you in to help save Carlos and I wish I'd _never_ asked you to involve _Sonya_ and that damn organization you've aligned yourself with. But at the time I didn't realize exactly how far that _bitch_ had _sucked_ you in."

He was taken aback by the fury in her words but clueless as to the reason; they had only done what she asked them to. It wasn't their fault that Carlos Cruz was unhappy with the methods used to save his life.

"Well, in future if you have a boyfriend in trouble, deal with it yourself." He wanted to push past her and go back to hide in his dark little cell, just seeing her this close and knowing what she had done was making him feel ill. But she stood her ground, blocking the doorway and showing no sign of getting out of his way.

"Sonya used a helicopter firing missiles to destroy a house. Seven people died... They weren't all guilty, Michael. Some of those killed or injured were women and children."

"And if she hadn't done what she did, we would all be dead," he answered her accusation calmly. "Those people, they were living with a cartel boss..."

"Can you hear yourself? You're explaining away a massacre."

"You forget, we're over. Y_ou_ moved on. I don't have to explain myself to you... Now, get outta my way."

The former lovers stared at each other, neither one willing to back down.

She'd had no problem with the methods employed to save her boyfriend's life until the hand wringing former gangbanger dumped her. She'd claimed to be upset about the death of Ben Snyder, the coward who would have let her burn to death in order to save his own miserable existence. But she had to understand that cowardice had no place in an organization such as James was running. Besides, what could he have done to stop the execution?

And then when he had given her what she wanted, instead of being happy she had attempted to undermine his mission and spied on him, placing a tracker in his gun to keep tabs on where he went. She confused him, trying to follow her logic was near impossible. Collateral damage was unfortunate, but it happened.

Sonya hadn't been in Columbia when she had passed the order on for the gunship to attack. She hadn't known who was in the compound... Then a little voice in the back of his mind broke into his thoughts, clawing at his reasoning. _But the blonde had been on the scene when she went to order a similar attack on the home of his friend, Roger Steele. The former GRU operative had known exactly how many people would have died inside the villa on the Canary Islands, but it hadn't stopped her from going to make the call. If he hadn't made the offer to kill a man who had helped him numerous times during his career. If he hadn't assassinated a friend... _

Michael blinked and did his best to stop that particular chain of thought. Roger had to die in order to protect the organization. It was as simple as that. Softening his expression, he smiled sadly. "I'm not going to fight with you, not any more, you should all be busy coming up with a plan for when James finds you."

Her expression mirrored his own as she move aside to let him past. "Not just us, you too."

"And whose fault is that?"

_I will not speak of your sin  
There was a way out for Him  
The mirror shows not  
Your values are all shot_

_But oh my heart was flawed. I knew my weakness  
So hold my hand consign me not to darkness_

_So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down  
I'll never wear your broken crown  
I took the road and I fucked it all away_

_Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace_

The auburn haired ex-PIRA terrorist watched the dark haired stranger through narrowed blue-green eyes as he walked swiftly across the living room of the abandoned house, ignoring his friends and his mother to go outside. She bit down on her lower lip in an effort to control the rising tide of temper which was flooding her mind and body.

_How dare he__!_ _How dare he dismiss them all as if they were nothing. He had dragged them all back into his life, putting them in danger, and then he thought he could just walk away._

The Irishwoman followed in the wake of her wayward former lover, Sam might want to play softly softly and try to nudge the stubborn bastard in the right direction. But that wasn't how she did things.

"Fi! Fiona! Dammit, Tinkerbell!"

She took great satisfaction in slamming the door shut in Sam's face.

And then she let rip, not caring one iota about the venom pouring out from her mouth in words and tone.

"Do you care about anyone except for yourself? Do you care that your Ma is petrified, not only for herself, but for you too?... And what about Charlie? D'ya think he'll like it in foster care?... How about Sam, _your_ best friend? The man who has just walked away from a woman he loves to save you from making the biggest mistake of your life. And Jesse? You ruined his career trying to bring down an organization exactly like the one you've thrown in with. How d'ya think he feels about that?"

She could see her words were having an effect. She could see the play of his muscles through the thin white T-shirt he was wearing. She watched his sharply defined biceps bunch as his long fingers flexed as they gripped the porch rail.

That last comment, comparing his sacred James with Vaughn and Management, had hit a spot. It was like Sam had said when he had brought up Anson Fullerton and the death of Michael's brother, Nate. But she wasn't finished yet.

"D'ya know what's really sad? You becoming the thing you hate and you can't even see it... You're willingly betraying your country on the word of a man who slaughtered his own team. You _know_ what James Kendrick did to his own people. Here, let me remind you... Your new best friend waited until his team mates were asleep and then he crept through the camp and slit their throats. Are you ready to do the same, Michael? Do we all need to sleep with one eye -"

"It's not like that," he interrupted, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him.

"No? Really? Tell me, please, what it is like then?"

He shook his head and then turned to face her. "You wouldn't understand. You haven't spent your whole life being lied to." He sighed. "All James has done is show me the truth."

She laughed at him, laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Stepping in closer, she smirked as he straightened up, pushing away from the rail he had been resting against. _Good, he was feeling threatened_.

"The truth of it all? Oh my God, d'ya hear yourself?" She raised an eyebrow, and took another step into his personal space. "The truth of it is, he has duped you into becoming a traitor and made you his puppet."

He attempted to move her, his hands on her shoulders shoving her backwards. But she dug in her heels and used her arms and elbows to break his hold. _If he wanted to get away that badly, he could go over the rail and take his chances with the snakes and alligators_.

"Fi..." he growled out a warning.

"Sam said to you, one day somebody would get in your way and you would have to decide how far you were willing to go. Well, I want to know how far you're willing to go for your cause. You know right now James is coming after us all and, when he finds us, he will want our blood. He is going to slaughter your mom, Charlie, he'll -"

"_STOP_! J- ju-just _STOP_!"

He pushed her away so hard she fell onto the rough unvarnished wooden deck. The distress in his voice was heartbreaking to hear, but she couldn't let him walk away. Scrabbling back to her feet, she brushed her hands down her clothes to remove the dirt and splinters while giving chase, following his path around the porch.

"What are ya gonna do, Michael? Will you stand and watch as he does it, the way you did when he murdered Ben Snyder? Or will you pull the trigger yourself this time? I mean you must hate us all, enough to risk having us all thrown in jail. You could say it would be a kindness to put us down like dogs."

He had been striding away from her, but now he was frozen in one spot. She could see the tremors running through his body and it was the scariest thing she had ever seen as, all of a sudden, he crumbled in front of her, falling to his knees and then shifting and shuffling until he could put his back against the wall of the house. Then, with his knees drawn up to his chest, he buried his head in hands.

The fiery Irishwoman had been ready for a full blown screaming and shouting, a stand up, knock down fight. The last thing she expected was to see the man she truly madly deeply loved... yes loved, she had been a fool to fight it... fall to the floor and shatter before her eyes.

"Michael?" She went to sit beside him and then stopped unsure what to do. This was just like when he had come back to them after James had interrogated him. When he had taken one look at her face and sobbed for over an hour, she had been at a loss then, too.

"You should all go..." he sniffed. "You should go, leave me... I'll – I'll think of something."

"No," she dropped down next to him, wrapping an arm around his hunched shoulders. "_We'll_ think of something, and get it done it together."

_So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down  
I'll never wear your broken crown  
I took the road and I fucked it all away  
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace?_

_So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down  
I'll never wear your broken crown  
I can take the road and I can fuck it all away  
But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank for all the reviews for this story. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long for this chapter. _Lover's Eyes_ is another Mumford & Sons song which does not belong to me. It was suggested by my good friend and Beta, Jedi Skysinger.

**BEHIND BLUE EYES**

**Lover's Eyes**

"Together."

The word held the promise of comfort and comfort was something the broken spy was desperately in need of as he buried his head further into his arms.

Instinctively, he leaned into the warmth and safety of his former lover's embrace. The touch of her arm tenderly supporting him opened another faint crack in the fragile shell enclosing his damaged soul.

"Yes… me, you, Sam and Jesse, we'll keep your Mom and Charlie safe while we figure out a way to get you clear of this mess you've made." The sting of her softly spoken words added to the turmoil swirling in his head, reminding him of what he had lost and what he had become.

"_Shhh… we're no good at this..." The whispered sentiment floated back to him from long ago._

Taking a deep shuddering breath, the dark haired man uncurled. Shrugging off the shapely arm wrapped about his shoulders, he straightened out his long legs and let his head fall back against the wooden wall of the house... _With everything that had happened in the last year, those five words seemed something of an understatement._

Staring out at the scattered forest of live oak trees with their ghostly tendrils of Spanish moss trailing down towards the murky brown-green waters of the Louisiana bayou, he took another deep breath and then let it out slowly and, in that moment, he let go of all his anger at what his friends had done to him.

_He had no one to blame but himself. He had told Sonya that his friends had moved on without him. But, in truth, he had left them behind. Maybe not willingly, but nevertheless he had been the one who had disappeared._

"Michael?"

He could hear the concern in her tone, and it was nice. It was nice to know that she still cared enough to be concerned for his well-being. Swallowing thickly, he twisted around slightly so he could look into her eyes when he made his apology.

But words had failed him when he stared into his former lover's eyes. It was like he was looking back into the past. All the hurt his betrayal had caused glistened in her blue-green orbs just as it had all those years ago in Ireland when she had first discovered his name wasn't McBride. He knew for the ex-guerrilla fighter who had been raised to be fiercely loyal to those she loved, this second betrayal was far more despicable than the first.

His earlier deceit had been that of an enemy combatant spying on a foe. Deep down, it was something she had understood and, once the initial anger had passed, she had been able to forgive him, and move on. This time however he had done something much worse; he had lied and turned his back on his family, his friends and on her.

"Fi," he sighed. "I'm sorry."

He tried to smile, although his lips refused to cooperate, as he mistook her soulful look of compassion for one of pity. In the end, he turned away, his hands coming up to scrub away the moisture building in his eyes.

The auburn haired woman at his side reached over to capture one of his hands, entwining their fingers and bringing them down onto her lap. "So, you're finished with all that foolishness?"

"It's not that simp-" He stopped speaking as the tiny Irishwoman's short but very sharp fingernails curved and dug into the back of his hand in a warning.

"James wants us all dead, Michael. I don't think it gets any simpler than that. And unless you intend to stand by and let him do it, you're going to have to work with us."

"I have to-" The spy bit back on his words, swallowed and spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're right... I – I'll do what I can."

"Glad to see you've come to your senses." Her smile lit a small spark in his heart.

_If he could make her happy, even for a short while, it was better than the hurt he had been causing her ever since Panama. He had been a naïve fool to think the CIA would have ever allowed him to walk away while they still had a use for him._

"Me too," he agreed as he managed to smile back.

They sat in silence on the old wooden porch, watching the slow moving river and listening to the sounds of the nature around them. The peace and tranquillity of the scene began to lull the operative's highly tuned senses. _He had been running on empty for so long and now he had nothing left._ He had missed this so much, to be able to sit comfortably with another person and not feel as though he had to be on guard in case he made even the smallest of slip ups.

His mind drifted, letting memories of his old life rise to the surface; memories he had all but extinguished because they interfered with his ability to focus on the mission: long hot sultry nights at the loft, sitting out on the balcony watching storm clouds pass over head, Fiona relaxing back against him, her feather light weight on his chest, her lips playing softly against his as they kissed under the moonlight.

_He had wanted to forget those times._ He was never going to have that life and thinking about what he had thrown away was just torturing himself, but the memories would not stop: the floral scent of the potpourri placed in small baskets about their home, the feel of eight hundred thread count sheets against his skin, waking up in the morning wrapped in the arms of a woman he loved and who had loved him back.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, dreaming of those better days when he had seen a future for them together. Because when he next looked around, Fiona was standing by the door talking in muted tones to Sam Axe.

_Well, love was kind for a time  
Now just aches and it makes me blind_

_This mirror holds my eyes too bright_  
_I can't see the others in my life_

_Were we too young? Our heads too strong?_  
_To bear the weight of these lover's eyes?_  
_'Cause I feel numb, beneath your tongue_

_Beneath the curse of these lover's eyes._

**()()()**

The three adults inside the house had listened in silence to the angry exchange taking place outside on the porch. It wasn't long before Madeline realized the effect the shouting was having on her grandson as tears filled the little boy's eyes and his bottom lip began to tremble.

"_Are ya ready to do the same, Michael? Do we all need to sleep with one eye - __No? Really? Tell me, please, what it is like then?"_

She'd quickly gathered up her grandson in her arms and headed for the bedroom at the back of the house, hoping that the talk of what fate James might have planned for them all didn't get any louder.

Jesse edged closer to the door, where Sam stood with his head to the side, all the better for listening to the bitter words being exchanged outside.

"Do you think we should get out there before they killed each other?" the younger man murmured softly.

"No, not yet… Let's give Tinkerbell a chance. If anybody can get through to Mikey, I gotta believe she's the one to do it." The older man's body was still complaining after his own 'discussion' with his best friend. Sam was pretty sure the spy wouldn't take it very well if they all ganged up on him and besides the tiny ex-terrorist was perfectly capable of looking after herself.

As if to prove the former SEALs point, Michael's voice, full of anguish, ripped through the small house.

_"__STOP__! J- ju-just __STOP__!"_

Seconds later, there was a thud which sounded suspiciously like a body hitting the floor and then the patter of rapid footsteps moving away.

As Jesse reached for the door, determined to find out what was going on, Sam steadfastly blocked the younger man, holding up a hand in a gesture for him to wait.

_"What are ya gonna do, Michael? Will ya stand and watch as he does it, the way you did when he murdered Ben Snyder? Or will you pull the trigger yourself this time? I mean, you hate us enough to risk having us all thrown in jail... You could say it would be a kindness to put us down like dogs._"

Both men sighed with relief at the dulcet tones of Ms. Glenanne in full voice.

Jesse pursed his lips, his hand reaching for the door a second time. "I really think we should -"

"Maybe give 'em a while longer, huh, Jess?" Sam replied, as all went silent again.

He remembered that on more than a few occasions, before Michael's final confrontation with Olivia Riley, when his two best friends had still been a couple that blazing arguments had frequently ended up being settled in a more physical manner than was fitting to be seen by friends calling around unexpectedly for a beer and a chat.

The tall shaven headed man paused, clearly torn between wanting to check all was well outside and, having read his older friend's expression, not wanting to interfere in what was possibly a private moment taking place on the porch.

Finally he conceded. "We'll give them a few more minutes."

The creak of the front door opening, some fifteen minutes later, brought both men to where the woman in their thoughts stood framed in the entrance, looking exhausted and emotionally battered.

"Where's Mike?" Sam asked, peering over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the slumped figure further along the porch. "Please tell me you haven't killed him?"

"He's alive, just…" Fiona sighed. "I think I got through to him."

"You _think_?" Sam looked over her shoulder again to confirm Michael was indeed still breathing.

"He's fine, Sam. He's sleeping. He's exhausted."

"So, everything is okay now?" Jesse frowned. "Cuz less than an hour ago he seemed damn determined to get away." The young man gently touched the bridge of his very sore nose, wincing at the feel of swollen and bruised skin under his fingertips.

"He doesn't want to be James' pet CIA agent any more, if that's what you mean. But -" She shook her head sadly. "He's so beaten down, I don't think even _he_ knows what he wants any more."

"Fi…?"

At the sound of Michael calling out, the conversation came to an end.

"I'm here, Michael," she called back, turning in time to see the spy slowly climb to his feet.

"We need him on our side, Fi." Sam lowered his voice to make sure his words didn't carry. "I'm pretty sure I covered our tracks. But if James does find us, I'd rather not be dealing with the ghosts in Mikey's head too."

"He just needs a bit of time, that's all... He's Michael. He'll be fine." She turned away from the older man to face the operative at the center of all their thoughts as he walked slowly, and by his expression reluctantly, towards them.

_But do not ask the price I paid,  
I must live with my quiet rage,  
Tame the ghosts in my head,  
That run wild and wish me dead._

_Should you shake my ash to the wind  
Lord, forget all of my sins  
Oh let me die where I lie  
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes._

_'Cause there's no drink or drug I've tried_  
_To rid the curse of these lover's eyes_  
_And I feel numb, beneath your tongue_  
_Your strength just makes me feel less strong_

**()()()**

As soon as he reached Fiona's side, Michael caught sight of the scabbed over gash on his best friend's forehead just below the hair line. He had been in pure survival mode when he had elbowed the man holding him captive. _He was going to have to apologize._

He had been unable to see past his goal of taking over the organization, of molding it into his own vision of what was good and righteous, to listen to the words of somebody he perceived was working against him. From the moment he had figured out that the ex-SEAL was lying to him, his best friend had become the enemy and had been treated as such. The dark haired man ducked his head down, unable to meet Sam's steady gaze. He had treated one of the very few people who had stood by him like a hated foe.

The confused mind of the spy tried to justify his actions, prompting him to remember how his friends had conspired to kidnap him. However, that feeling of betrayal disappeared as fast as it had surfaced when another part of his brain pointed out how these people had thrown away their own lives in an effort to save him from himself. Fiona's hand closed about his, steadying him, reminding him he was no longer alone.

He took strength from Fiona's touch and raised his eyes to witness the damage he had done.

"I'm sorry, guys," Michael murmured, all the while wondering why the only two people who hadn't once questioned why he had taken the CIA deal were still standing there after the way he had treated them.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Mike, you were tricked into believing the words of a smooth talking evil genius. It could happen to the best of us."

"I'll think of this as pay back for shooting you... I always thought you held a grudge about that."

The spy smiled, genuinely moved by the words of the two men he had fought with so recently. He took a half step forward and then came to a stop as a large hand landed on his chest. Looking up, he found himself staring into Sam's brown eyes.

"Just tell me you've quit the whole idea of taking over James organization."

Michael nodded slowly. "I've quit, Sam. I'm sorry, I should have never -"

A well of emotion rose up, choking off his words. _God, what he would have given for a drink, something strong to take away the guilt, the anger and a whole raft of other negative feelings._

"Well, that's okay then." The older man stood to one side to let him pass.

Back inside the house, Michael took his first proper look around, noting all the signs of neglect and decay. The place didn't look like it had been lived in for quite some time. Taking a seat at the table, the dark haired man pushed away Charlie's coloring book and crayons and rested his elbows on the flat surface.

"How did you come up with this place?"

"It belongs to a buddy," Sam answered, joining him at the table. "A guy I knew in West Germany. His father in law left him this place in his will. I met up with him a few times since I got to Miami. We spent quite a few weekends down here, fishing and hunting... I tell ya the locals make this great gumbo..."

The former SEAL checked himself, it was obvious from his taut features the tightly wound operative wasn't interested in hearing about the local cuisine.

"It's a safe place, Mikey, and unless James has been tailing us for the last three or four years, he can't know about it."

"And your friend, does he know we're here?" Michael knew how the terrorist organization worked. James had people who could find anybody. They would be checking out every single person who might offer them shelter. "And how about our transport? I know we didn't come all the way from Miami on an airboat."

"We brought you here on a seaplane I sorta _borrowed_ from this guy staying at the Chadwick. He was gonna be in a meeting until four and we were long gone before he would have missed it. It's parked about a mile away, hidden outta sight and camouflaged... And my buddy, Ray, well, he's is on vacation somewhere in Eastern Europe, visiting all the places he only got to see on night missions last time he was there. We're safe for the time being."

The operative nodded and then looked at each of his three friends, his highly tuned paranoia screaming out a warning. He was half way out of his chair when he voiced his concerns. "Who's on guard? What –?"

"Hey, hey, take easy, it's all cool." Jesse gestured for the older man to sit back down. "Sammy here has it all in the bag... We hadn't been here more than five minutes before we had a welcoming committee. It was pretty hairy until a couple of the neighbors recognized Sam. If anybody comes around asking questions we'll know about it."

The dark haired spy reluctantly sunk back onto his chair. He had been alone for so long that it was hard to put his safety into the hands of others. But from the relaxed expressions worn by his friends, he had to accept that they trusted the locals to protect them.

With a long drawn out sigh, Michael began to wonder what else his friends had been up to. "So, what's the next step?"

"The plan…" Fiona explained, placing an opened yogurt cup before him along with a spoon and a bottle of water. "…Was to stop you turning into a monster. After that, we hadn't really come up with anything."

"You drag me - you ruin - how -?" Suddenly, he was so angry that he couldn't get the words to come out of his mouth. Taking several deep breaths, the haggard man forced the rage back down. _He had driven them to this._ He still didn't understand why they had done it; nevertheless it was up to him to fix it. "Tell me what you know. What happened to Sonya?"

"We knew you were out in the Everglades when I called you. So after we grabbed you, I sent Strong a text from your cell, saying you couldn't talk but he needed to get over to a large building seven miles inland from Pearl Bay... It was on the news this morning that the Feds had captured an international terrorist, Sonya Lebedenko, in a joint operation with the CIA... My guess is that Strong is trying to find his missing agent and James is -"

"James will have dropped out of sight. But he'll have his men hunting us down." Taking a mouthful of the creamy blueberry-flavored dessert, Michael tried to come up with a way to keep them all from ending up in jail or dead.

"Mikey, you need to talk to Strong. You can tell him you had to bug out cuz your cover was blown. If you tell him James had figured everything out... With Sonya in custody, won't that be enough to get us out of the CIA doghouse and some protection while they hunt James down?"

Michael dropped the spoon into the half full cup and stared at his best friend. The thought of going back to the CIA made him feel nauseous. He understood he was hated and despised for the killing of Tom Card and ruining the career of one of the most high profile female agents in the CIA. But what made him sick to the stomach was the complete lack of honor the Agency had displayed in using the likes of Simon Escher, the man who had done all the things that had been transferred to his own dossier to ruin his life.

He had done so many bad things throughout his career. He had done them for what he had believed were good reasons, because the Agency he trusted told him it was for the greater good... But if that Agency could free monsters to do their bidding, where was the integrity in that?

"Mike, do you have a problem with that, brother? Cuz it's the only play I can come up with." Sam pushed for answer.

The spy plastered a smile on his face. "Sure, Sam, I'll call Strong. But I'm gonna need a secure line, something James can't track."

"You think he has a line into the CIA?" Jesse asked. "Cuz if he has, we're definitely screwed."

"I don't know, Jesse. I wouldn't be surprised if he had. We can't be too careful... Besides, I don't want Strong to where we are either, not until I'm sure there's a deal. I was told if I didn't hand over James Kendrick in forty eight hours, we were all going to prison. So I'm not counting on Strong coming through for us."

"Michael, you should speak to your mom. She was pretty upset earlier." Fiona changed the subject.

"My mom, where is she?" He looked around, as if noticing for the first time she wasn't there.

"Along the hall, she's sharing a room with Charlie. It's the last door on the right." The Irishwoman pointed to the door which led to the back of the building and the three bedrooms which made up the rest of the house.

With Michael on his way to check on his mother and nephew, the ex-terrorist joined the former SEAL and the private security consultant.

"So, that went well," Sam commented with a sigh. "I didn't expect Mikey to agree to everything just like that."

Fiona looked up at the older man, her expression showing exactly how foolish she thought his statement was. "You do know he was just telling you what you wanted to hear, right? He's up to something." She folded her arms over her chest and frowned. "I think he is going to try to go after James on his own."

"So, we're gonna have to put a leash on him then," Jesse concluded.

_But do not ask the price I paid,  
I must live with my quiet rage,  
Tame the ghosts in my head,  
That run wild and wish me dead.  
Should you shake my ash to the wind  
Lord, forget all of my sins  
Or let me die where I lie  
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes._

_And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow_  
_Take my hand, help me on my way._  
_And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow_  
_Take my hand, I'll be on my way._

**()()()**

Michael slowed his pace as he reached the door. With his hand closed about the handle, he paused and closed his eyes. The thought of going back to the CIA filled him with dread; he had barely been able to contain his contempt the last time he had been in a meeting with Agent Strong and the Agency brass.

"_'gain, Granma. 'gain,"_

Charlie's gleeful shouts for his grandma to repeat whatever it was she had just done brought a bitter sweet smile to the spy's face. _He would do it for his nephew._ The boy had lost so much in his short life, he owed to Nate to do all he could to keep his son safe.

Stepping into the room, he was greeted by the sight of his Mom sitting on a double bed with Charlie seated right up next to her as she read from a large book with pop-up pictures. The image shocked Michael to the core; it was almost as if he had been transported back to his own childhood. Charlie's resemblance to Nate had been commented on by everybody who had known the younger Westen sibling; however, in the two weeks since he had last since his nephew, the similarity seemed stronger than ever.

"Look who it is, sweetheart…" Madeline's overly cheery tone sounded strained and forced to the only other adult in the room, but not to the little boy who was shuffling his way off the bed.

"Unca Mike!" Charlie yelled happily and jumped down off the bed to wrap his arms around his uncle's legs in a bear hug. "Read me a storwey?"

"Soon… er, I need to speak to your Grandma first, Okay?"

"I wanna go home... can we go?" The young child looked up expectantly.

The spy remembered the phone call Sonya had taken; the family home was gone. Fiona had burnt it to the ground and fire bombed the car belonging to James' surveillance team to stop them from giving chase.

_How __could he explain to Charlie that they could __never go home? How could they run with a three year old, dragging him from place to place, never allowing him to make friends in case he said the wrong thing, waking him from his sleep to move on to a new location at a moments notice, having him grow up in fear of an invisible enemy who may slip into his room in the middle of the night?_

_He had held a gun to the head of a little girl not much older than Charlie following the orders of James' henchman, Burke._ _Would he have fired if told to? Would he have killed a child in order to save his friends from a life in prison?_

"_Do I have to remind you what's at stake? You do remember the deal? You do whatever you have to get the job done." Burke might have ordered him to kill a child, nonetheless in the background there was Strong's voice egging him on to do what was necessary... No wonder the man could free a monster like Simon._

"_The men who killed your brother, they thought they were doing good too!" Sam's accusation added to the guilt the spy was feeling. _

"Michael?"

The concern in his mother's voice and the tug on his sweat pants from tiny hands trying to encourage him over to the bed distracted his dark thoughts.

"Charlie, honey, why don't you go choose which story you want your uncle to read while we talk for a minute?"

As soon as the little boy was back on the bed struggling with the large book to get it on to his lap. Madeline turned back to her son. "What's going on, Michael? Have you sorted things out with Fiona – and Sam?"

"It's complicated," he answered automatically, using his standard to reply to any question about his relationships.

"Fiona came to the house, she told me – she told me some -"

"I'm fine, Mom, I – Fiona made me see sense. You all got to me in time... I'm gonna make this right, I promise." He reached out tentatively, cupping her shoulders.

"I know, honey. I was there, I heard." She smiled up at him, her hand gently rubbing up and down his arm.

He had expected recriminations, not kindness and understanding and it threw him off balance. "_I_ heard about the house. I'm sorry, Fiona felt the need to… er, well, you know."

All through his childhood and through a good part of his adult life, he had thought he hated that house. A home was supposed to be a place of warmth, comfort and safety, yet for him it had been a war zone. By the time he was eleven, he had learned to cope with beatings, interrogations and some of the most vile food ever to land on a plate. By seventeen, on those first weeks in basic training, he had been one of only a few of the recruits who hadn't suffered any homesickness.

"It's just things, Michael... I'm finally learning that lesson. If I had burned the place down years ago, maybe we wouldn't all be here now." She took his hand and brushed it against her cheek before kissing his knuckles. "I want you to know I'm proud of you…You've always been here for us, you've always put your family first. I've been listening to your friends talk and we all have to take our portion of the blame for what's happened."

_He couldn't take this right now._ _It would have been better if she had screamed at him. That he knew how to deal with. _ His blue eyes filled with moisture which he scrubbed away.

"It's okay.. I-I'm gonna make it right. I-I'm gonna call the CIA and explain." He half turned, intent on leaving the room before he broke down again, but his mother's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Michael, you need to rest and you promised Charlie a story." She gestured with a nod to where the boy sat, waiting patiently his big brown eyes fixed firmly on his closest male relative. "The CIA will still be there in a couple of hours."

"Mom..." The last thing he wanted to do was sit and read with the three year old.

"Please, Michael, for Charlie? He's been missing you so much. Just read to him while I go and make us all a drink."

The dark haired spy turned his eyes up to the ceiling, as if looking for strength.

"Fine, but I have to make that call today, as soon as possible. We need to know if the CIA is going to help us."

"One story and I'll be back before you know it... Maybe we can come with you when you make the call. It would do Charlie good to get some fresh air."

"Mom, it's not going to be - a school outing." The door shut behind the older woman before he had finished speaking. With a sigh, he turned to the dark haired child with the big brown eyes. "So, a story?"

Charlie shifted on the bed to make room for his uncle and pushed the book into his hands. "This one."

Michael looked down at the large printed script and the colorful pictures of an old king surrounded by laughing courtiers holding violins.

"It's not much of a story." He went to turn the pages, but a little hand stopped him from checking out the other nursery rhymes in the book.

"Cole."

" 'kay, I get the message, Cole it is."

Charlie clambered onto his lap and rested his head on his chest.

"So you ready now?... Old King Cole was a merry old soul. and a merry old soul was he. He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl. And he called for his fiddlers three. Every fiddler had a fine fiddle and a very fine fiddle had he; twiddle dum, twiddle dee, went the fiddlers three. Twiddle dum, dee dum twiddle dee. Twiddle dum, twiddle dee, went the fiddlers three."

Reaching the end, a demanding finger pointed to the picture of the king with his fiddler's three.

" 'gain, Unca Mike, 'gain."

Outside in the hallway, Madeline leaned back against the bedroom door, listening to her son recite the children's poem over and over again to his nephew. Tears welled up in the older woman's blue eyes as she thought about the childhood her own children were robbed of by their father and her own selfish actions.

_Well, not any more…_

She had been given a fresh chance with Charlie and she was determined to extend that chance to her remaining son.

_And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow_  
_Take my hand, help me on my way._  
_And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow_  
_Take my hand, I'll be on my way._

**()()()**

A/N: You can go to Youtube and if you type in Jeffrey Donovan reciting Old King Cole, you can get to listen to him reading this nursery rhyme and imagine Michael Westen reading to Charlie.


End file.
